The 14 days grace that rallying boats are allowed to remain on the towpath moorings outside Braunston Marina was up on Sunday, so on Saturday morning the Boys and I returned to shift the boat west to the outskirts of the village.

It was hardly a journey as such at all, perhaps ½ miles at most, but even so short a leg was enough to rekindle the embers of slow boating. Tiller in hand I could feel the stress-knots untying, my heart-rate easing, my perma-frown softening… even if the time spent on the boat was short, this micro-journey allowed my senses to sharpened, my emotions were heightened and I took time to look and listen rather than list-make and worry.

Here are a few image taken during a 15 minute moment in the life of a boat…

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We left the car near our proposed mooring and walked back along the towpath to collect the boat. Here’s a novel twist on the ‘STOP ME AND BUY ONE’ ice cream van… Increasingly the towpath’s attracting budding entrepreneurial types, attracted by the lifestyle and a ‘home/vehicle/shop in one… In this mad world this kind of business makes complete sense to me.
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A longer-established enterprise – the always popular ‘Gongozzler’s Rest Cafe’ at the entrance to Braunston Marina…
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And a couple of traditional boats with a hold of goodies, the Boys were tickled by the fact that the boats were selling model boats!
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Butcher’s Bridge in all it’s red brick glory…
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Eileen as we’d left her a week since. Our grand ‘old lady’ of a boat…
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Passing perhaps my favourite BCN day boat conversion, the ‘Reginald’ is a wonderfully characterful boat and now sporting a gorgeous sounding ‘cracker’ of an engine…
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Last view of the marina, much quieter now… the majority of historic boats already left for home moorings and other heritage events over the Summer…
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Eileen hardly rippling the water as we glide past…

 

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Bridge 91 is an austere and resolutely functional concrete road bridge, but softened by Summer greenery even it took on a more picturesque aspect.
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At the village edge I tried to squeeze the boat into just too tight a mooring. However, luck favoured us and as I struggled I noticed a boat a couple of boat lengths away cast off oreleasing a perfect spot to moor Eileen, it even has concrete bollards upon which to secure her lines.

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